Scorpions and suicide—The act proved—Intention
probable—Conflicting evidence—Scorpions and
cockroaches—Concentrating backwards—Economy of
poison—Decorous feeding.
THE assertion that scorpions are occasionally luminous—if indeed it has
ever been seriously made—does not appear to have received confirmation.
Of fire, indeed, these creatures have a horror, but that probably
relates to its property—heat—to which they are extremely sensitive. The
popular belief is, that, if surrounded by fire, a scorpion will
deliberately sting itself to death. Of the fact, or, at least, of the
fact of the self-inflicted sting, there can be little doubt, but in
regard to the motive there is room for difference of opinion. Mr. Pocock
says, truly enough, that it is _à priori_ improbable that the scorpion
has any intention of killing itself.[154] But what, then, is its
intention in stinging itself, supposing that it deliberately does so?
Nor must it be forgotten that the idea of death—of destruction—must be
indissolubly associated in the scorpion’s mind with the use of its
sting, since it uses it with that purpose only, and that is the result
which constantly attends its use. Is it, then, really so improbable that
it stings itself with the same intention as that with which it stings
other creatures?—or, rather, with what other possible intention can it
do so, assuming the act to be a voluntary one?
Nor would it be necessary to prove the intention that the sting, thus
delivered, should be fatal in its effects, and, in regard to this, Mr.
Bourne has satisfied himself by experiments with some Indian scorpions
that a self-inflicted wound, or even wounds inflicted by individuals of
the same species on one another, have no effect. On the other hand, he
found that a moderately high temperature was fatal to his scorpions, and
so concludes that this has been the real cause of death in all such
cases as we are here considering.[154]
The above theory, however, hardly accords with the experience of Mr. W.
G. Bidie, also of India, and that very part of it where Mr. Bourne’s
experiments were made—viz. Madras. Writing to _Nature_, he says: “One
morning a servant brought me a large specimen of this scorpion (the
common black one of Southern India), which, having stayed out too long
in its nocturnal rambles, had apparently got bewildered at daybreak and
been unable to find its way home. To keep it safe the creature was at
once put into a glazed entomological case. Having a few leisure minutes
in the course of the forenoon, I thought I would see how my prisoner was
getting on, and to have a better view of it, the case was placed in a
window in the rays of the hot sun. The light and heat seemed to irritate
it very much, and this recalled to my mind a story which I had read
somewhere that a scorpion on being surrounded with fire had committed
suicide. I hesitated about subjecting my pet to such a terrible ordeal,
but taking a common botanical lens, I focussed the rays of the sun on
its back” (so that Apollo may have flayed Marsyas as a mild
alternative). “The moment this was done it began to run hurriedly about
the case, hissing and spitting in a very fierce way. This experiment was
repeated some four or five times with like results, but on trying it
once again the scorpion turned up its tail and plunged the sting, quick
as lightning, into its own back. The infliction of the wound was
followed by a sudden escape of fluid, and a friend, standing by me,
called out, ‘See! it has stung itself: it is dead.’ And sure enough in
less than half a minute life was quite extinct.”
This seems plain enough. The scorpion had not died of the heat, up to
the moment at which it stung itself—an act which would require some
vital energy. It did sting itself, and in less than half a minute
afterwards it was dead. Moreover, as the experiments with the lens were
intermittent, there seems no more reason why the last one should have
been fatal than the other four or five. It is, perhaps, possible to
imagine that the scorpion was almost dead before, that the last heating
caused it to expire, and that in the moment of doing so it stung itself
by involuntary muscular action. There is nothing, however, in the
narrative to suggest this, but quite the contrary.
Supposing the sting to have been a voluntary act, what could the
scorpion have intended except to injure itself? Had it ever in its life
used its sting with any other purpose than that of doing injury? Mr.
Bidie adds: “I have written this brief note to show (1) that animals may
commit suicide; (2) that the poison of certain animals may be
destructive to themselves.”[155]
Writing several years later, also to _Nature_, Dr. Allen Thomson,
F.R.S., gives the following account, not, indeed, of his own experience,
but that of an eye-witness in whom he feels full confidence. He says:
“While residing, many years ago, during the summer months, at the baths
of Sulla, in Italy, in a somewhat damp locality, my informant, together
with the rest of the family, was much annoyed by the frequent intrusion
of small black scorpions into the house, and their being secreted among
the bedclothes, in shoes, and other articles of dress. It thus became
necessary to be constantly on the watch for these troublesome creatures,
and to take means for their removal and destruction. Having been
informed by the natives of the place that the scorpion would destroy
itself if exposed to a sudden light, my informant and her friends soon
became adepts in catching the scorpions and disposing of them in the
manner suggested. This consisted in confining the animal under an
inverted drinking-glass or tumbler, below which a card was inserted, and
then, waiting till dark, suddenly bringing the light of a candle near to
the glass in which the animal was confined. No sooner was this done than
the scorpion invariably showed signs of great excitement, running round
and round the interior of the tumbler with reckless velocity for a
number of times. This state having lasted for a minute or more, the
animal suddenly became quiet, and, turning its tail on the hinder part
of its body over its back, brought its recurved sting down upon the
middle of the head, and, piercing it forcibly, in a few seconds became
quite motionless, and, in fact, quite dead. This observation was
repeated very frequently.”[156]
Here, again, it is difficult to see how a mistake in observation can
have occurred, and admitting the facts to be true, they go far beyond
Mr. Bourne’s theory to account for these phenomena, which, however, has
been adopted by Mr. Pocock, as the result of his own experiments. In the
first place, it is not here the heat—unless by association of ideas—but
the actual sight of the flame that terrifies the scorpion, and death,
apparently, is inflicted as the result of that. Again, there can be no
doubt as to the self-inflicted stinging, and from the manner of it, as
well as its invariability, it seems to have been deliberate. Whether
death was the result of it or not, we have the act, and the act, if a
voluntary one, must have implied a destructive intention. It hardly
seems possible, however, that the light of a candle, outside a tumbler,
though held near it, can in so short a time have made the interior so
hot as to kill the scorpion, whilst, on the other hand, the poison from
the creature’s sting must have pierced its brain, and a few seconds
afterwards it was dead.
If, then, we decide to disbelieve in the story of scorpions committing
suicide when unable to escape from fire, we must explain away these two
accounts, which we can do by supposing the narrators to be either
dishonest or stupid. There is no other way that I can see, so if neither
of these do, we ought to believe the story. However, there is plenty of
evidence which points in the opposite direction, and the advantage of
this is that we can take our choice.
Scorpions are interesting animals to keep in captivity, and their habits
under these conditions have been carefully studied by Mr. Pocock.[154]
When supplied with sand they dig pits in it, in which they lie during
the greater part of the day. The second and third pairs of legs are used
for this purpose, the scorpion raising itself upon the other two pairs,
as well as, to a certain extent, upon the claws and the end of the tail.
In this position it kicks the sand backwards from under it, and then
when the excavation is sufficiently deep, sweeps away the accumulated
heap, with its tail, so that the edge of its lurking-place is on a level
with the surrounding surface. It can thus, as it lies there, obtain an
uninterrupted view, which the better enables it to receive with proper
attention any creature of the requisite size and quality that approaches
its portals. Such creatures are principally insects, spiders,
centipedes, wood-lice, and the like—but here we may remember one little
spider that imitates a scorpion, and may therefore approach with
impunity, at least if the disparity in size be not too great, for whilst
some scorpions are quite small, others attain a length of eight or nine
inches, with a bulk more than in proportion to their length.
In captivity, and, no doubt, under nature too, when they happen to come
across them, scorpions will eat cockroaches, but a cockroach is not
altogether a defenceless creature, and sometimes a large one will give
battle, and even with success. The weapons upon which, in these cases,
it relies are its powerful hind legs armed, as they are, with spines
which project backwards. Backwards accordingly it advances upon the
scorpion, and increasing its pace suddenly, when at the requisite
distance salutes the astonished enemy with a shower of kicks. So
unexpected is this mode of assault that it is sometimes effective, even
against so redoubtable an opponent as a scorpion, whilst a tarantula
spider has been known to fly, panic-stricken, before or rather behind a
large cockroach. But such efforts, however heroic, can have only a
transient success, where the conditions are so unequal. Jaws and sting
must prevail against soft bodies armed only with spiny legs. “_Alla
stoccata_ carries it away.” Generally the poor cockroach is
seized—sometimes, in the first instance, by the antennæ—as it comes
inadvertently too near to the scorpion, or even trespasses upon its
back. At once the tail is bent above it, and the fatal sting enters its
body. Paralysis ensues, and would no doubt be quickly followed by death,
even were the scorpion, thereupon, to retire. As it is, however, it is
difficult to say whether the victim dies more of the sting or of being
eaten.
From the latter process, at any rate, there is no recovery, as may be
seen in the case of smaller cockroaches, upon whom the scorpion, from
motives of economy, does not always waste its poison. It merely, when
thus provident, holds the contemptible creature in its claws, whilst
bringing to bear upon it its two pairs of chelæ or real jaws, which act
upon the same principle as those of _Galeodes vorax_, if the reader
remember. It feeds in a leisurely manner, the impatience of the
cockroach not affecting it in the least. Two hours for a good-sized
one—a _pièce de résistance_—is not considered too long by the scorpion.
Scorpions, it appears, use their stings in a very careful, deliberate
manner. It is not a mere random thrust with them, lunged in anywhere,
just as the body of an insect happens to come. On the contrary, they
feel about this body, most anxiously, with their tail, till they have
found a soft spot in it, and then introduce their sting in a careful
manner. In fact, they sting an insect in much the way that Isaak Walton
impaled a frog upon the hook—“tenderly as if they loved him”—and for the
same class of reason, viz. to make a workmanlike job of it, and not
break their stings against the harder parts of its body, for the point
of this weapon is delicate and might get chipped against the hard shards
of a beetle, or other such resisting surface.
For the same prudent reason the tail is carried aloft, over the
scorpion’s back, when it walks, so that the whole organ, but especially
the point of it, which is curled round again underneath, is preserved
from contact with the outer world. The sting, or rather the sides of the
poison vesicle just above it, are clothed with hairs, which are, no
doubt, delicately tactile, and the same may be said of the tail and
various other parts of the body. Touch, indeed, is the principal sense
which conveys impressions to the soul of the scorpion. Sight is
defective, and hearing does not seem to exist.
* * * * *
WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD., PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH
-----
Footnote 154:
Nature, June 1st, 1893.
Footnote 155:
Ibid., vol. xi.
Footnote 156:
Ibid., vol. xx. p. 577.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Notes
Title page - Added missing period
Pg. 42 - Changed ‘free-booter’ > ‘freebooter’ in caption to match
illustration index and rest of text
Pg. 106 - “Unto to me” > “Unto me”
Pg. 140 - “Tierra del Fuega” > “Tierra del Fuego”
Pg. 203 - ‘plausibilty’ > ‘plausibility’
Pg. 137 & 142 - ‘aphis’ > ‘Aphis’ to match other instances
Pg. 145 - Corrected typo: ‘Sycænidæ’ > ‘Lycænidæ’
Pg. 187 - Corrected typo: ‘Bell’ > ‘Belt’
Pg. 217 - Corrected typo: “312, 33” > “312, 313” - Source checked
Pg. 222 - Added missing close-quote w/reference to source
Pg. 222 - Corrected typo: ‘Amophila’ > ‘Ammophila’
Pg. 253 - Corrected typo: ‘caterpilllar’ > ‘caterpillar’
Pg. 270 - Corrected typo: ‘replique’ > ‘réplique’
Pg. 290 - Corrected typo: ‘exisit’ > ‘exist’
Pg. 334 - Corrected typo: ‘especally’ > ‘especially’
Except for the above, inconsistent hyphenation, as well as archaic and
non-standard spelling and has been retained.